


flower thief

by venuskindred



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anxious pining, First Kiss, First Meetings, Flowers, Light Angst, M/M, Meet-Cute, Oblivious Simon Snow, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Pining, also lucy if u squint, and if you squint - Freeform, mature just for language/very vague sexual talk, shep or micah is here depending on how you look
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:16:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27496318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venuskindred/pseuds/venuskindred
Summary: “Is she even pretty enough?!” He cuts me off, his hands now at his sides, and his chin jutting out defiantly. I need to stop finding this guy cute. I’m stealing his flowers.I take a second to process what he says, and then have to hold back my laughter. He thinks these flowers are for a girlfriend? I don’t think anything about me exactly screams 'I’m dating a lady', or even 'I’m attracted to ladies'. But I suppose I should play along. I’d rather refrain from explaining I’m stealing these flowers to put on the grave of my late mother. That seems like I’m asking for pity.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	flower thief

**Author's Note:**

> (prompt by the inactive blog awful-aus on tumblr: “Sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery, but today you’ve caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the “girl is pretty enough to warrant flower theft” and I’m trying to figure out how to break it to you that we’re on our way to a graveyard”)  
> -  
> i'm so very canadian so british slang is lost on me i'm sorry

**BAZ**

Maybe I should change my visits to every other weekend. The yard I nab flowers from is starting to show signs of my trips to see my mother. I don’t necessarily care about the inhabitants of the property- it always smells stiflingly like green wood being burned, which irritates my nose-, I just would rather not get into a conflict when I feel so drained. The weekends when I visit her, my small range of emotions (anger, frustration, disappointment, grief) have been worn to the bone, and all I want is to pour my heart out to her by the angel on her grave.

An angel. An angel with huge wings, weeping into her hands. Mum- Mother- would have wanted something simpler, I’m sure. Natasha Grimm-Pitch was never one for the frivolous details. She was a very straightforward, serious woman, who had no time for what she didn’t care for. Or so I’ve been told. I wouldn’t remember.

Roses and forget-me-nots. It’s always the reddest roses, and the most brilliantly blue forget-me-nots. I think if Fiona knew I was putting a common, invasive flower on my mother’s grave, she’d blow a gasket. She never visits with me, though.

I crouch down in a way that I hope is subtle, looking over the flowers. The scent of smoke is fainter today, and I hope that whoever lives here is out. I reach out to the stem of a beautiful rose, narrowly avoiding the thorns(I’ve learned my God damned lesson) and snapping it gently. I snap the stem of the rose next to it as well, wrapping the stems gently in some black tissue paper, and as I reach for the vast patch of forget-me-nots, I hear the door to a house open. I silently pray that it’s one of their neighbours as I pick some of the blue flowers.

“You!”

I never felt guilty about stealing flowers from this place until now. It hadn’t clicked in my head that I was stealing from a person, who probably carefully tended to this garden and loved it like a child. I am a child killer. Fuck.

Clearing my throat, I stand myself back up and try to look nonchalant. Maybe they’ll think I just dropped something, if I act confused enough. I furrow my brow, pretending to look intensely concentrated on the pavement. There is no way I dare to just walk off. They sounded pissed.

“You’ve been stealing the flowers!” the voice accuses. They sound like they’re about to lose it.

I spare a glance upwards, trying to look as confused as possible. The person standing in the doorway isn’t really what I expected, but I feel a lot safer knowing that it’s not a cranky old man with a gun. He actually looks to be about my age, with curly bronze hair and broad shoulders. He looks frustrated, and he’s pointing an accusatory finger at me. Impolite. But I guess stealing flowers is also impolite.

“I’m sorry?” I say, as calmly as possible. “I just dropped something.”

“Don’t lie!” he’s tugging at his curls. It’s kind of cute. “I’ve seen you stealing them! I just haven’t caught you yet!”

I sigh. “Well, now you have. Can I go n-”

“Is she even pretty enough?!” He cuts me off, his hands now at his sides, and his chin jutting out defiantly. I need to stop finding this guy cute. I’m stealing his flowers.

I take a second to process what he says, and then have to hold back my laughter. He thinks these flowers are for a girlfriend? I don’t think anything about me exactly screams  _ I’m dating a lady _ , or even  _ I’m attracted to ladies. _ But I suppose I should play along. I’d rather refrain from explaining I’m stealing these flowers to put on the grave of my late mother. That seems like I’m asking for pity.

“Yes.” I tell him, “She’s beautiful. Lovely person, too. Brave.”

Or so I’ve been told.

He seems to falter for a moment, and I can’t tell why. It seems like he makes up his mind on something, and he holds up a finger in a ‘one moment’ gesture. He darts back inside his house, and I hear a door being opened inside, then closed. The boy returns to the doorway, now wearing jeans instead of his pyjama pants. He’s in the same plain white shirt.

“I want to see her! Since that’s where all my flowers are going!” he proclaims, looking awfully proud of himself for someone who's about to be escorted to a graveyard.

“Christ, what’s she going to think if I have you with me?” I exclaim, but he seems to ignore me.

What  _ would  _ she think? I can’t just brush him off though, so I sigh and pick up my small bouquet, waiting for him to join me.

“Penny, I’m going out!” he shouts over his shoulder, closing the door behind him as he covers the few feet between us quickly.

Penny, huh? I don’t think it should, but that makes me feel a bit shitty. I shouldn’t find him cute in the first place, I’m killing his children. Or, flowers. I need to stop with that analogy, it’s disturbed. Like me, ask anyone.

As he joins my side of the garden, he hesitates a moment before sticking his hand out to me.

“Simon.” he- Simon- informs me, smiling a bit. Maybe he’s more polite than I am.

I take his hand, almost recoiling at how warm it is. He’s like a fucking furnace.

“Baz.” I tell him, giving our hands a small shake and then taking mine back. “Sorry about your flowers.”

Simon shrugs. “Penny grows ‘em. Not mine, really. She just gets so angry.”

“Penny’s your girlfriend?” I ask, hoping I sound more passively curious than desperate for a negative answer. “She’s got a green thumb, I’ll give her that.”

“Oh my God!” Simon laughs a bit beside me, and I don’t really know how to take that. “No, no way! She’s much too smart- and dating this weird American.”

I try not to think about how I’m a little too relieved to hear that.

“Mmh.” is all I can answer to that, shifting the flowers to my other hand. The one Simon shook. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

Simon nods, a little too enthusiastically. The thought crosses my mind that maybe he’s hoping for a gross threesome. He doesn’t seem like the type, but I don’t want to risk it. I also don’t want to tell him where we’re going yet. I’m enjoying his company.

I settle for, “Just so you know, there’s no weird sex shit happening.”

He stops abruptly, giving me a startled look. Oops. “I don’t  _ want  _ weird sex shit!”

“Well, good, because there’s none to be had.”

Simon laughs at this as he starts walking again. It’s kind of a cute laugh, where his whole body shakes a bit and he scrunches up his nose. “Well, good, because I don’t want any!”

I can’t help but smile at this, even though he’s mocking me. It’s almost cute. Almost.

Simon looks oddly satisfied that he made me smile. He really seems to wear his emotions on his sleeve. I could never. I like to think I get it from my mother. My father is an emotional enigma, while I’m more of a ‘I’ll keep all my emotions right here, and then one day, I’ll die’ type of person.

As we pass over a bridge, Simon points out a dandelion growing between the cracks in the pavement. “Gonna steal that one too?”

I bite back a smile. “Only the best for her, I’ll have you know.”

At least I’m honest.

“You must really love her.” Simon muses, picking at the skin on his hands. I want to tell him to stop.

“I like to think I do.” I respond, tearing my gaze away from him to look at the flowers. “But that’s not your business, Simon.”

I can’t help it. When my mother comes up in conversation, I just want to shut down. To shut everybody out. That’s  _ my _ mother, and she was taken from me. Nobody else agrees, but I deserve to brood on that. Fiona probably agrees secretly. I know my aunt sheds more tears than I do.

Simon shrugs. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t look upset. Maybe he’s used to being told off like this, because he keeps his head down. Now I feel kind of bad.

“We’re almost there.” I tell him as we turn onto the street. The cemetery is the only thing on this road. I wonder if he’s picked up on it yet.

“Do we have to go through the cemetery?” Simon asks me, wrinkling his nose. “Isn’t there another way to get to her?”

Is he fucking with me? He’s got to be fucking with me.

“Simon.” Is all I say before I turn into the cemetery, pushing the gates open.

“What?” he asks me, sounding genuinely confused. “I just don’t like it.”

I clench my fist around the flowers. He’s got to be fucking joking. I scowl, and crush the flowers harder. A thorn from the roses lodges itself into my palm.

“Fucks sake!” I exclaim, dropping the flowers and inspecting my hand. “I’m here to visit my  _ mother’s grave _ .”

Simon takes a moment to process all of what happened, then his eyes widen. “Shit. I’m so sorry, Baz.”

“Yeah. Unless you can get this thorn out of my palm, just fuck off.” I sneer.

“Sure! I used to get thorns in my hands all the time. Hold on.” he tells me, and I am taken aback. I wasn’t serious, I don’t think.

Simon beckons me over, but I stay still, glaring. He sighs, and walks towards me instead. I hold out my hand to him, and immediately I feel his warmth on it. _ Why  _ is he so hot? Temperature wise, of course. Maybe.

He pinches the skin around it, and bites at his cheek. It feels like he’s burning me. I don’t mind.

I feel him squeeze the skin harder, and then an accomplished noise. He lets go, and the chilly evening air bites at my hand again.

“You’re welcome, asshole.” he sounds amused, and sad. “Sorry I didn’t realize sooner.”

I look away, refusing to properly acknowledge what he said. The damage has been done. I’m pushing you away, so beat it. I won’t let you in.

I’d never say those things. God forbid I express my feelings in that way. Gross.

Instead, I turn my back to him and start walking towards my mother's grave, leaving the flowers on the ground.

“Wait up!” he exclaims, suddenly appearing at my side. Too close, actually, I can feel his body heat. “I’ll walk you back home, uh, after you’re done.”

“No getting rid of you, is there?” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I wouldn’t mind some privacy, though.”

“Fine. I’ll wait by the gates.” Simon tells me.

As he turns away, I watch him for a little longer than needed. He takes a sidelong glance at a grave that's relatively close to him, sighs, then heads for the gates.

I take a look at the grave as well, and can make out  **LUCY SALISBURY.** There are no dates that I can see, but I do recall Fiona mentioning a Lucy Salisbury from her school days. Huh. I shake it off, and wander  **NATASHA GRIMM-PITCH** -wards.

Not my business, I guess. I’m not nosy, like some bronze haired menaces.

When I reach the angel that marks her tomb, I begin to regret dropping the flowers in a fit of rage. I wish I had brought her something, now. Anything.

I sit down anyways, my back against the angel’s pedestal. It’s cold, and it reminds me of how pleasant Simon’s body heat was on my hand.

“Hi, mother. No flowers today, but a more exciting development than last weekend. I met someone, I think. Just now- just today. His-” I falter. “His name is Simon. I’m not saying he’s the answer, but he’s something. He’s warm, and he has the most crooked smile you’ve ever seen. He’s a proper idiot, but he makes me feel something.”

The breeze ruffles my hair as I nervously crack my knuckles.

“Maybe I’m just overly hopeful. I wonder a lot what you’d think of me, and Fiona tells me you’d love me half to death. I hope she’s right, because what I’m about to do is the least Grimm-Pitch thing you could think of.”

I stand up, stopping to look at the angel silently, and then striding off. It’s gotten really dark, and for a moment I worry that Simon’s run off. But then I see him, leaning against the fence, scrolling through his phone. I’m a little too relieved.

“Simon!” I call, a little too desperately.

He looks up, smiling, and pockets his phone quickly. “How was your visit?”

“It went well. I don’t think she’s going to be too proud of me now, though.”

Simon laughs nervously. “You’re not going to kill me or anything, yeah? That would be shitty of you. You’re too handsome to go to prison. Please don’t go to prison. Or kill me.”

He’s rambling. It makes me smile, which seems to put him more on edge. He’s rambling, and he called me handsome.

“Shut up.” I finally say, and hold out my hand. He looks confused for a moment, before carefully holding his out, a couple inches away. The slightest hint of a smile plays on his lips as he looks at me, curiously.

I have to be the one to bridge the distance, taking his hand in mine. He made me work for it, and I took the bait. Disgraceful. I can work with this.

When our hands are intertwined, I tug him closer to me gently. He’s starting to look confused, and concerned. Is he straight? That would absolutely crush me, I think. I could handle that too, though. Maybe start up a homoerotic rivalry. However, I don’t think I could handle rejection right now, so I loosen our fingers and try to let go, but he holds on tighter, his face suddenly serious.

“Are we holding hands or not?” he asks, and it’s so casual that I’m genuinely taken off-guard. “Fuck, your hand is freezing. Give me the other one.”

Without waiting, he grabs for my other hand with his free one, immediately warming me up. This cannot be happening. There is no way in hell. This time, he pulls me closer without warning, not taking the same care I did to not be rough about it. I stumble forward, wildly ungraceful, and we’re so close that it feels like standing by a fire. I have to do it now, before I duck out. I’m still on the emotional high of him calling me handsome. It’s now or never. He’s right there. I just need to lean down the slightest bit, and we could kiss. This has to happen now. I take a deep breath, and steal a proper glance at his face. He looks concerned. Or like he’s thinking. Contemplating, maybe.

Then he kisses me.

**Author's Note:**

> this WAS going to be one chapter but i want to write a cute epilogue because i'm soft for writing snowbaz!! hopefully i'll actually do that


End file.
